


Yasou (To You and Your Face)

by SilentProtagonist000



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: I'm not actually Greek sorry, M/M, Millennial Hank, Plot is moderately existential at best, Some Plot, metaxa saves lives, no beta because I don't need no education, this was mainly an excuse to write hank being a shit over text, trash title, wingman gavin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 04:00:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15307032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentProtagonist000/pseuds/SilentProtagonist000
Summary: Connor likes Hank. Hank likes Connor. Gavin likes alcohol and will do literally anything to obtain it, including setting up his two least favorite people together (or, really, his least favorite person and android).





	Yasou (To You and Your Face)

**Author's Note:**

> Back in MY day, Quantic Dreams was hot garbage
> 
>  
> 
> Hunting Leviathan is permanently on hiatus, sorry to everyone involved. College showed up and hit me in the face at the end of my freshman year. Now I'm suddenly in grad school somehow. But I still write fanfiction sometimes, hooray?
> 
> Enjoy this, it's all self-indulgent bullshit.

“Detective Reed, if I may be so blunt, how do you date someone?” The motherfucking tin can was at it again.

Gavin whirled around to face Connor, who was standing self-effacingly in front of his desk, hands clasped in front of him like a good, innocent church boy. He glared at the android and scowled. “The hell are you asking me for?” Gavin demanded. Last he recalled, he  _hated_  androids and made no secret of that fact to Connor. Yet here he was, all big brown eyes and soft hair and calm demeanor, asking Gavin for… fucking dating advice.

 “Well, you see, I have encountered a dilemma,” Connor replied in that perfect, inflectionless monotone that made Gavin’s bones grind. “It seems that I am experiencing… a sense of attraction toward a human being, ever since I became a Deviant. My thirium pump rate increases when I am in the presence of my object of affection and I experience light perspiration. It is causing me considerable consternation to—”

“Oy, shut the fuck up,” Gavin snapped. “I don’t give two shits about your robot boner. I hate you, I don’t care, I’m only choosing to associate with you for official department business.” Connor did not move, his only response to Gavin’s diatribes being to stand there quietly and observe. The android’s LED didn’t even turn yellow, meaning Gavin’s insults had gone in one ear and out the other. That made Gavin somehow even angrier.

“How about don’t ignore me when I’m talking to you, dipshit?” Gavin went on.

 “I apologize, Detective Reed, I merely found no worth in what you were saying.” Gavin’s scowl deepened. First this mistake of circuitry had the gall to ask him about dating, now he was sassing him? “I figured you were the best possible alternative to inquire about human dating, given my current circumstances.”

Circumstances? What on earth did that mean?” “What on earth do you mean?” Gavin demanded. “Your partner is a human. Go talk to him, he can at least tolerate you and your ugly mug.”

At the mention of Hank Anderson, Connor shifted from one foot to the other awkwardly. For the first time, he dropped his intense gaze to the floor. His lips twitched to a small smile, the android’s LED finally sparking to life in vibrant yellows. Suddenly, the realization hit Gavin like a train—

“Hold on, you’re into Hank?” Well,  _this_  suddenly got a lot more interesting. Lieutenant Hank Anderson had been a noisy, albeit grumpy advocate for keeping androids off the force prior to Connor coming on and even sent a petition of complaint to the chief, signed by everyone else in the DPD, when the admins had chosen to pull an RK800 in from CyberLife to assist in hunting Deviants. But ever since Connor had come on and had been assigned to Hank as a partner, Gavin had noticed the old cop’s gruff, cold demeanor begin to thaw. He was smiling more, cracking more jokes, and even talked to androids like they were…  _alive_. He palled around with Connor off the clock, taking him to bars and to events, like they were friends or some shit. The android standing in front of Gavin’s desk had forced the Lieutenant to a massive personality shift and Gavin hated Connor for it.

And now Connor had a crush on Hank.  _The bullshit of it all._

“Yes, that is correct,” Connor said. He glanced quickly up at Gavin again. “Oh, I apologize, am I too obvious? I was hoping that I was being coy and secretive. Do you think I act like this around the Lieutenant?”

Gavin wanted to vomit. “Oh my god,” he grumbled. “Connor, is your audio processor broken? I. Don’t. Care. Go away, tin man. Go find someone else to give you a heart or whatever.”

“Your dismissive attitude is well displayed in your reference of popular culture,” Connor responded. Leaning forward, the android placed his palms flat on Gavin’s desk. “However, I assumed your response would be such, so I would like to strike a deal with you in exchange for your assistance in this matter.”

Gavin rolled his eyes and picked up a case file. Hopefully pretending to be busy would make Connor leave. “What makes you think I want to do anything to help you?” he asked. “I don’t hate Hank, I’m not going to subject him to a miserable life putting his dick inside your robot butthole.”

Connor didn’t even flinch at Gavin’s rebuttal. Deep down, Gavin had to begrudgingly respect Connor’s unflappability. “I have a bottle of Metaxa that might change your mind,” the android deflected. “A very good, 12 stars bottle of Metaxa, to be exact. Does that sweeten the deal?”

Gavin’s hand froze.  _GodDAMN this fucker_. Where the hell had Connor heard that Gavin loved Greek brandy? Metaxa was next to impossible to get in Detroit, it had been years since Gavin had a bottle. He didn’t even want to know how Connor had gotten his grubby android hands on one. Gavin blew a long breath out his nose, volleying between helping his least favorite bag of bolts and good-ass alcohol. Gavin could feel Connor’s stare on him, frigid and trained, and the detective knew it wasn’t because he was a robot.

_I can’t believe I’m doing this._

“Fine,” Gavin said. “What do you want me to do?”

* * *

 

“Boof,” said Sumo, matter-of-fact. Gavin turned around to see the giant St. Bernard padding up to him with the tennis ball Gavin had thrown for him caged in his slobbery jowls.

“Oh, cool,” Gavin mumbled, letting out a heavy sigh as Hank’s dog dropped the wet toy at his feet. “I kinda wished you’d ended up chasing that into traffic.” Immediately, he felt bad saying that to a dog, especially when Sumo sat back on his chubby haunches and looked up at Gavin with inquisitive, dopey black eyes.

Gavin wasn’t much of a pet guy, but he’d begrudgingly agreed to watch Sumo for Hank while Connor took him on what was  _absolutely_  a date.  _“I’m going to take the Lieutenant for lunch at Chicken Feed and then have a walk in the park,”_ Connor had told him after they’d officially struck their deal and Gavin nearly peeled off with visions of sugar plums (or, Greek brandy) dancing in his head.  _“And then I will tell him my feelings in the park. Do you think that would be acceptable?”_

"Ugh! God! I don’t care!” Gavin snapped, to no one at all. A young woman with a little girl standing at a nearby ice cream stand scowled at him, the mother leading her daughter away briskly at his outburst. Sumo didn’t react, still waiting for him to throw the ball again.

“Boof,” Sumo philosophized again. Gavin groaned.

Gingerly, the detective knelt to pick up the ball and tossed it again. As he watched the dog tear excitedly after it, he absentmindedly checked his phone. There was one missed message from Connor (who Gavin had put on silent since the first day he walked into the DPD).  _Detective, I thank you again for your cooperation,_ the text read, like Gavin was sitting at the interrogation table.  _The Lieutenant and I have just finished lunch, so we will be arriving at the park in 5.2 minutes. How is Sumo?_

Gavin briefly toyed with the idea of not responding, but the Metaxa beckoned like a beautiful call girl.  _OK,_ Gavin replied.  _playin fetch._

_Excellent. See you soon. Sumo tends to be very excitable when he sees either the Lieutenant or myself, so keeping him at a safe distance would be preferable._

At that, Sumo came barreling back over, tail alight with happy flutters as he practically hurled the tennis ball back at Gavin. Deciding to indulge for a minute, Gavin sat on a nearby bench and reattached Sumo to his leash and gave him some under the ear scratches.  _When did all of this start?_  He wondered. Hank and Connor had never seemed suspiciously close or anything. Sure, Connor had always followed Hank around like a surrogate Sumo on the clock, but he was (begrudgingly, Gavin admitted) competent in his own way. He did his own shit—no wonder that fucker turned out Deviant—but Hank never acted more attached to Connor than he did anyone else on the force. Connor always did little things for Hank, like getting him coffee just the way he liked and fussing over his outfits or giving him shoulder rubs at his desk during stressful cases without asking—

 _Wow, I’m dense_.

 On cue, his phone chirped. Fuck yeah, not Connor! Cheerfully, Gavin opened his messages to see—

_yo fam. u think con likes me??? help bruh_

“Oh, for the love of Christ,” Gavin whispered under his breath. He didn’t want to, but he responded to Hank anyway.  _You text like a ducking millennial._ Shit.  _**fucking_

_lol. but do u think con likes me_

_I don’t know man,_ Gavin responded.

 _cause he thicc for an android._ Then,  _oh wait u kno what thicc is right?_

Gavin rolled his eyes.  _I’m Gen Z, ofc I know what thicc is, we invented thicc. idk probably? tin can gets u coffee n shit_

Hank’s response was almost immediate.  _look Gav, I kno u don’t like androids but like help me out on this one. We’re gonna be alone in the park soon, can u tell me if he likes me so I can decide what to do_

Gavin was getting stressed out just reading Hank’s grammar. How can anyone his age still text like that?  _Dude I’m already looking after your dog, you’re like 54, you can handle this yourself. Plus I hate him so idc who he’s into. Also he’s a robot, they don’t have real feelings probably_

 _wow fuckin rude asshole,_ Hank replied too quickly. Connor must have been driving.  _hes alive, and he’s a deviant so ya he has feelings. don’t be racist_

 _ANDROIDS ARE NOT A RACE,_ Gavin screamed through the text.

 _well I’ll just guess he’s into me and tell him. thanks for nothing btw,_ Hank responded.  _I’ll think of u when I’m getting some of that android boy pussy (bussy for u gen z child)_

Gavin nearly threw his phone into a tree. “Sumo, who the fuck taught your owner what a bussy is?” he demanded. Sumo just looked more interested in the tennis ball Gavin was still holding. Before the detective could pitch it again in his rage, Hank’s ’17 beater Chevy pulled up into the parking lot under a swathe of oak trees not a hundred feet away. Connor scrambled out of the driver’s seat, wearing one of Hank’s old Hawaiian shirts and board shorts, looking incredibly uncomfortable in his dorky boat shoes and bearing an android-teal fluster. Hank emerged from the passenger side, similarly (stupidly) dressed and looked much more frazzled than Gavin would have expected of someone who unironically used the word “bussy” several seconds earlier.

As if by muscle memory, Gavin quickly stood and decided to stand like an awkward fuck between himself and Sumo so the dog wouldn’t see his owners and freak out. Out of the corner of his eye, Gavin saw Connor tear around to Hank’s side of the car. Man, when he’d said “walk in the park,” he really meant “we’ll park there and I’ll confess.” Androids waste no time.

I _’m way too deep into this shit,_ Gavin thought angrily.

However, either Gavin was too thin or the low murmur of Connor and Hank’s voices were louder than expected, because Sumo was not one to be fooled. Before Gavin could react, Sumo was barking at the top of his fatass lungs and Gavin was on the ground, hand still fruitlessly attached to Sumo’s leash as the massive dog dragged him as if he were a rag doll. For a split second, Gavin saw Connor—who was a bright, furious blue now, leaning in disgustingly close to Hank, and Hank looking bemused in front of him—turn in surprise toward the source of the noise. The android’s soft brown eyes, framed in the Detroit late autumn leaves, grew large in steady shock.

The peaceful lull before the storm was almost wonderful. Almost. Gavin felt like crying as he let go of the leash.

It was as if Connor wasn’t made of fucking metal, because Sumo gleefully knocked him onto the ground without a hitch. The color drained from Connor’s face as he wordlessly allowed Sumo to  _boof_  and lap at his face with scarcely contained excitement, his own disappointment all too easy to read from where Gavin was lying sprawled on the park lawn. Hank looked similarly dejected, staring down at his stupid dog and his stupider robot on the concrete. After a second, Hank looked up at Gavin and frowned.

_Rest in peace, my dear, sweet Metaxa._

* * *

 

“Connor, please, I’m begging you.”

“Sorry, Detective. I can only gift you the Metaxa if my confession to the Lieutenant had succeeded. You failed in your mission, so no brandy for you.” If androids could look pissed, Connor was a poster child. Deep scowl, furrowed brow, arms folded resolutely over his chest as he sat at his desk.

Gavin groaned, exaggerating his pain as he knelt in front of Connor’s desk and grabbed the surface. “Pleeeeeeease, I’ll suck your dick,” he whined. “Metaxa is so hard to find nowadays, Connor! You’re killing meeeeee!” As revenge for not properly containing Sumo, Connor had taken pictures of the bottle of Metaxa all weekend, dangling it over Gavin's head like a carrot. The Metaxa, sitting on Hank’s kitchen table. The Metaxa, in the shower with Connor (fully clothed, for some reason—was this sexting?). The Metaxa, placed next to a very confused-looking Hank on the couch. It was pure torture, and Gavin was caving too easily.

“Then help me pair up with the Lieutenant and you will receive your brandy,” Connor replied. “Also, I don’t have any male genitalia.”

At that, Gavin looked up in surprise. “What? Then how the fuck do you expect Hank to—”

“I will inform you now, Detective, that your following question has a 0.1% chance of being answered,” Connor said dismissively.

Annoyed at the firm refusal, Gavin muttered various anti-android slurs under his breath and scooped himself up off the precinct floor. He could practically feel Captain Fowler’s bitter glare from his office above the bullpen, screaming at him to get back to work, so he couldn’t linger and lick Connor’s boots forever. Connor had been especially pissy this Monday morning—probably because Hank was sent to a crime scene alone due to a risk for potential virus infections against androids and he couldn’t stand flipping through case files without his butt buddy. There wasn’t much of a chance for Gavin to sway him into giving him the alcohol—but fuck, it was worth a shot.

Gavin schlepped back to his desk and sat down with a dramatic huff, hoping Connor saw. He glanced over. Connor hadn’t seen him.  _Goddammit._

At that moment, his cell phone pinged.  _yo gav is con still in hte office_

Why was Gavin now Hank and Connor’s go-between? Maybe it was time to start charging them money for his time.  _Yeah, why do you ask?_ Gavin texted back.

_Cause I wanna bring him some thirium shit or whatev 4 lunch & I don’t wanna waste money if hes not there_

_Where else would he be?_ Gavin asked, a serious question. If Connor wasn’t with Hank, he was in the DPD office somewhere. He was a robot, of course he was predictable as fuck.

 _stfu chile, Im trying to be nice to my bf._ A second later,  _what u doin 4 lunch_

Jesus Christ.  _He’s not your boyfriend yet, also why are you texting like you have a gd flip phone still??? spell out for, for fuck’s sake_

 _ur just salty cause u can’t handle big dog_ , Hank responded. Gavin had no idea what the hell he was trying to say. Watching a millennial text was like trying to decipher hieroglyphics.  _Im out here tryna get that fre sh a voca do n ur useless_

 _Are you having a stroke?_ Gavin asked.

 _ok well im gonna just eat in the archives so whatev, I got clues to look at n shit_ , Hank texted.  _if fowler asks where I am, jus tell him to fuck off_

Gavin sighed and tossed his phone on his desk. Hank texting him his dumbass millennial references was distracting him from the real matter at hand—how to get Connor and Hank to fuck and stop bothering him so he could (most importantly) enjoy his Greek brandy. He was a detective, figuring out solutions to seemingly impossible problems was his job. And he was on his lunch break, so it wasn’t like he was wasting precinct time considering this, unlike Connor skulking around and Hank about to spend the rest of his life setting up a cot and jerking off in the archives—

 _Wait, holy shit. The archives!_ Gavin was responsible for ensuring that the archives were cleaned and disinfected between cases—the dubious honor came with the promotion to rookie detective. Connor didn’t have clearance, but Hank did, and Gavin could always  _conveniently_ allow him access temporarily if it was for the sake of Metaxa.

Swiftly, Gavin whirled around to his desktop and composed a very concise email to the precinct:  _Emergency cleaning in the archives today. Keep all evidence locked at your desk until further notice. Thanks, G._ As soon as he hit “send,” Connor glanced up at him in confusion from across the bullpen, clearly smelling bullshit with that specialized nose of his. Gavin didn’t even look at him as he spat out an even faster joint text to Connor and Hank:  _Archives in 20. You two, alone. Thank me later, and for the love of God don’t respond to this text._

Gavin saw Connor’s LED blink yellow for a moment before Gavin texted  _I fucking told you, don’t say anything to me, bicentennial man._

Hank immediately entered stage right. Gavin had a feeling that he either wasn’t as far as he implied from the station or he was just really fucking eager as soon he understood the implication of the text. He was suddenly in the bullpen, all sweaty and loud button-up prints, making a beeline for his and Connor’s desks. He didn’t even spare so much as a glance toward Gavin as he reached out and snagged Connor by the lapels.

“Con… evidence… we gotta go,” he gasped, winded from his twelve-block sprint. Connor flickered his gaze between Gavin and Hank, that stupid LED of his flashing wild yellows and reds, as Gavin gave him a quick nod. Within an instant, his emotion bled blue, and a selfsame blush rose to his cheeks.

“Okay, Lieutenant, let’s head down,” Connor agreed, the edge to his voice deeply human in its fluster. Gavin watched the two move quickly—conspicuously—toward the glass doors leading to the archives downstairs and kicked his feet up on his desk, folding his arms behind his head in silent satisfaction.

It was still his lunch break, so maybe he could catch a few winks.

_And dream of my lovely twelve stars._

* * *

 As fate would have it, Gavin was called to a crime scene before Hank and Connor could emerge and Gavin could harass Connor for his brandy, and he did not return to the precinct until after the sun had long since disappeared behind the Detroit skyline. When he got back, the automatic lights sputtered on, illuminating the total emptiness in the bullpen, only Jeffery Fowler’s office still lit and containing the captain’s frowning face as he poured over some documents. Save for himself, Fowler, and the android janitor, there was no one else still around at this hour.

But a splash of bright red interrupted the dull greys and whites of the DPD office—a large red ribbon, tied around the neck of a tall bottle of Metaxa Twelve Stars, sitting perfectly centered on Gavin’s desk calendar. Gavin could feel tears of joy welling up in his eyes—him, the angry detective who never cried at anything ( _except this damn beautiful bottle of liquor_ ). A small white card sat at its base, and as Gavin approached, he could just barely read the immaculate script:

S _umo likes you. Come visit him? – C_

Gavin spilled into his rolling chair and placed the bottle of Metaxa in his lap, resting his cheek on the cool metal twist top. He smiled against it, so hard and genuinely that it almost hurt. Goddamn androids.

He totally would visit Sumo. But first, he needed a drink.

**Author's Note:**

> ευχαριστώ to you and your goat
> 
> Metaxa Twelve Star is really expensive, just buy some Southern Comfort or something


End file.
